Chapter 3 #3
He glanced across the courtyard, the lawn, the entrance to the inn’s private dining room and wondered for the 245th time how Elizabeth Jane still controlled this inn from the grave.
Rebellion crescendoed in his heart, nearly overpowering what loyalty he had to this place and the ancestors who’d won it, lost it, and regained it years later. At Ariel’s words, his mutinous thoughts threatened to drown out all the family history and pride.
What would happen if he started playing again?
One thing he knew. In the few minutes he’d had to reflect on this new life as an innkeeper, music had never strayed far from his mind. For a moment anyway, until some new hotel catastrophe screamed at him.
To work with a band again, to lend his scrap of talent, to contribute to a greater experience than any musician could have alone—he couldn’t imagine anything sweeter.
And yet…
He glanced around the courtyard at the peeling paint, the neglected landscaping, a light turning on in a room that would have sat empty tonight if not for the Grand’s flood.
Blake came over and set a cup and saucer, pitcher of cream, and coffeepot on the table. Then, wordless for once, his friend backed away.
“I haven’t cut any ties, and I’d love to hold a guitar again, especially with you and Miss Dahlia.” He avoided her eyes. “But it wouldn’t work.”
Silence stretched. He prayed for the right words—words that wouldn’t make him look like a complete failure.
Then again, she’d already witnessed his loser-innkeeper skills, so why not be completely honest?
“Caleb, it’s the hotel, isn’t it?”
He hesitated. Poured the cup a third full of cream, then added sugar and coffee. Took a sip and let out a breath. Even if everything else in his world went wrong, his sweet, creamy coffee would never change.
He leaned toward her, stirring his cup, completely captured by those blue eyes. “You see how much trouble I’m in. I’m sinking, Ariel. I don’t know how to get my head above water. To be fair, I don’t even know which direction will give me a breath of air and which will finish me off.”
“Today didn’t help.”
“Today made it worse. I’m afraid to see who tagged the hotel on social media today, complaining about the facility and the service.
” He looked up. Met her gaze. Seeing only empathy in those beautiful eyes, he held nothing back.
“I lived here with my parents from junior high until college. My entire extended family lived in apartments in this hotel. But I didn’t take part in the day-to-day running of the inn. ”
“Never?”
Soft jazz began to play through the outdoor speakers. Ariel tapped her index finger lightly on the table, keeping the beat of the song Tara must have turned on.
“I came home and helped out last year when my grandfather had a light stroke, back before the island started booming again.”
Her eyes turned soft. “I remember you left the music scene for a while because of a family emergency.”
“Back then, he told me what to do, and I did it. He still ran the show, despite my kooky Great-Aunt Annabelle starting a rumor that Granddad had signed the inn over to me. But he had another stroke a month ago.” He barked out a laugh that sounded cynical, even to him.
“So here I am, back again after getting called away from my band’s summer tour. ”
He tracked the change in her expression, kindness morphing into deep concern, and it gave him a strange sense of comfort.
“He’s okay now, right?”
“It could have hit him a lot harder.” Caleb’s voice turned raspy against his will. “Mostly memory, concentration loss, and weakness in his arms and legs. And stubborn-headedness. You’re still his favorite singer, so the stroke didn’t completely destroy his mind.”
Her gentle smile at his lame joke warmed him. “Do you think he’d like me to visit?”
Blake came back then, smirking but surprisingly silent, and delivered their plates, the aromas of grilled fish and cheesy pasta making Caleb’s stomach complain. How long had it been since he’d eaten? He couldn’t say.
When the makeshift waiter left, Caleb paused, raised his gaze to the sky, and thanked the Lord aloud before diving into his meal.
“May I ask why you look up instead of bowing for prayer?” she said, her tone interested and not critical. “If you don’t mind saying.”
“Isaiah 40:26: ‘Lift up your eyes on high, and behold who hath created these things.’”
That sweet smile appeared again. “What a beautiful thought.”
“Don’t be impressed. It also keeps me from dozing off when Uncle Augo’s prayers get long,” he said between bites of fish and roasted root vegetables.
“To answer your question, yes. Granddad would love a visit from you. He hangs out in his room after dinner, since he usually has a visitor or two in the evenings before the home health aide comes to help him get ready for bed. We could go when we’re done eating.
He’ll be less grouchy with his belly full. ”
“Can I help with the hotel too? Brainstorm with you, find a solution? Maybe running a hotel isn’t all that different from playing music.”
“How so?” For the first time since he came back to this tired old hotel, he felt the tiniest hint of hope.
“The first time our band plays a new song, we always have a few sour notes, we have to find the key and tempo that work for us, and we decide who will play and sing what parts.” She leaned toward him, eyes sparkling.
“After the first couple of tries, we play through the whole song and critique each other. My harmony sometimes needs tightening. Aunt Dahlia occasionally takes off on some improvisation that would work great for a solo but not a duet. We identify problems then find a solution.”
“That’s a common way to do it.”
“Caleb, this old hotel has potential.” Ariel took in the entire patio area.
Returned that beautiful blue-eyed gaze to his.
“I’ve always loved and studied antique architecture and furnishings since I was the fourth generation to live in our old, antiques-filled farmhouse.
Last winter, I redecorated our Nashville home in the grandfather-chic style, which would look perfect in your hotel. ”
“Grandfather—what?”
“Chic. It’s masculine, sophisticated, nostalgic. Lots of wood, which you have, antiques, leather, comfortable seating.” Ariel pulled her phone from her purse, tapped the screen, handed him the phone. “Check out these pictures.”
“Nice. A warm, inviting home.” Something he hadn’t had for the past twelve years.
Ariel took a bite of gouda and sourdough, then lowered her voice. “Caleb, what if I become your renovation brainstorming partner and you help me with the band? You’ll get to play music again, and we’ll work together on our challenges. Plus, of course, we’ll pay you. It’s a win-win.”
The hotel—a win-win. He’d thought so years ago, back before he’d started running from this rattletrap inn. Today was a different story.
He stuck out his hand, and she took it. “Call it an even trade instead of paying me, and I’ll give it a try.”
What choice did he have? Accepting her offer couldn’t make anything worse.